


doctor's orders

by wearing_tearing



Series: Sterek Prompt Fills [13]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Bartender Stiles Stilinski, Doctor Derek Hale, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Tattooed Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 20:05:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4276242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearing_tearing/pseuds/wearing_tearing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Can you just get me a beer?”</p><p>“I should be getting you to bed,” Stiles says, and his lips twitch the moment he sees Derek’s ears turn a bit red. “But yeah, sure, coming right up.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	doctor's orders

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whatthehale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale/gifts).



> crossposted from [tumblr](http://dylansneck.tumblr.com/post/123298449739/doctors-orders).

“Well, you look like shit.”

Derek doesn’t even bother saying anything, just drops his bag on the empty barstool next to him and glares.

“What? You can kind of do.” Stiles shrugs, pointing a finger at Derek’s face. “The whole dark circles under your eyes and messy hair thing isn’t a good look for you.”

“I worked for the last sixteen hours,” Derek snaps. “Of course I look tired.”

“That’s what you get for wanting to be a doctor,” Stiles tells him, crossing his arms over his chest. Derek stares a little at the lines of ink and color covering Stiles’s forearms, his mouth going dry. “You could have just been a lowly bartender like me. If there’s one thing the world needs more of, it’s that. Fuck knows I’m sick and tired of listening to people complain about their problems to me.”

“I’d still be working nights,” Derek grumbles. “And you like having information about people’s lives. It makes you feel powerful.”

“But not for _sixteen hours straight_ ,” Stiles says, and then narrows his eyes at Derek. “And you might have a point.”

Derek sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Can you just get me a beer?”

“I should be getting you to bed,” Stiles says, and his lips twitch the moment he sees Derek’s ears turn a bit red. “But yeah, sure, coming right up.”

Derek watches him across the wooden bar counter, eyes following every little movement Stiles makes. He knows it’s a bit creepy, Stiles has told him that himself inumerous times, but he can’t help the way his gaze always seems to fall on him.

Stiles is, well.

Stiles is kind of beautiful, in a sharp and rough around the edges kind of way.

They met a couple of years ago when Derek first moved to the city and started working at the hospital. It was his first night accepting his coworker’s invites to go out and grab a couple of drinks at the bar across the street after a long shift, and Stiles had been one of the bartenders working that night.

Derek had instantly been attracted to him. The bright brown eyes, lithe body, pale skin dotted with moles, his pink and plush mouth and his hair sticking everywhere. The tattoos also didn’t help at all, covering every inch of skin in Stiles’s arms, a few swirls of color peeking out from under the collar of his shirt and over the waistband of his pants.

Derek dreamed about finding out just how much of Stiles’s body was covered in color and ink and art.

That night Derek realized Stiles knew pretty much everyone he worked with, having served one nurse or another or helped a drunk doctor get a cab for the night. They didn’t speak much that first night, except for Stiles looking at him with a glint in his eyes when Dr. Erica Reyes introduced Derek as the new doctor on staff and serving him a drink on the house.

“Consider it a welcome to this shitshow,” Stiles had said, lips curled up in a smirk. “And I’m sure that with the amount of times I’ll probably see you here, you’ll be paying back for this in no time.”

And Stiles was right.

Derek came back to the bar pretty much every chance he got.

“Here you go,” Stiles says, snapping Derek out of his thoughts and he places a beer in front of him. “Tough night?”

Derek gives him a dry look. “What happened to being tired of listening to people’s shit?”

Stiles makes a face at him, and then huffs. “You were right, knowing things about people makes me feel powerful, so don’t hold back on me now, doc.”

Like Derek even _could_ if he wanted to.

“I got vomited on today,” Derek shares, feeling a little better when Stiles’s nose scrunches up in disgust.

“That happens to me sometimes. I know how gross it is.”

“ _Twice_.”

“My record was four times, one night,” Stiles offers. “After that I just sent Scott to deal with the drunk customers.”

“One of them was a little girl,” Derek continues. “Four years old.”

Stiles shakes his head. “And I bet you couldn’t even be mad at her.”

“Right after she ate a bag of Cheetos,” Derek finishes. “So you bet your ass I could.”

“Ugh, dude,” Stiles groans, fake gagging. “ _Gross_.”

“I _know_ ,” Derek says. “And we didn’t have any more green clean scrubs that fit me.”

Stiles presses his lips together, and Derek just _knows_ he’s trying not to laugh. “Melissa made you wear one of the purple ones with butterflies on it, didn’t she?”

Derek’s shoulders slump. “For the rest of the night.”

Stiles reaches out, patting Derek on the arm. “I’m sorry, Derek.”

Derek’s skin tingles where Stiles touched it. “It’s fine. The kids liked it.”

“I’m sure the moms did, too,” Stiles says, waggling his eyebrows. He also fishes his phone out of his back pocket, fingers moving over the screen. “I’m asking Erica for a picture of you wearing it, by the way. I’m sure she has one.”

Derek takes a long sip of his beer. “I don’t know why you both enjoy making me miserable.”

“It’s because you’re our favorite,” Stiles tells him, batting his lashes.

Derek tries to ignore the rush of warmth he gets at hearing Stiles’s words. It’s not really that difficult, he’s pretty much used to it, has been for the past two years.

“I’m pretty sure _Boyd_ is Erica’s favorite. She always makes sure they’re scheduled to work the same shifts.”

“Ah, hospital love,” Stiles sighs dreamily.

Derek rolls his eyes at him.

Just then Stiles’s phone beeps, and Derek watches with fondness as Stiles’s face splits into a grin.

“Oh, dude.” Stiles shakes his head, showing Derek the picture Erica sent. “You look so angry.”

“I do not,” Derek mumbles, not convincing anyone.

“You so do! Those are your _I’m going to kill you_ eyebrows. You were totally plotting Erica’s murder when she took this.”

Derek keeps his mouth shut, mostly because that was true.

“Who would’ve thought, though?”

“What?” Derek asks, raising an eyebrow.

“That you’d look kinda hot in purple and butterflies.”

Derek opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, having no idea what to say to that.

“I guess I would, really,” Stiles says, chewing on his bottom lip as he stares up at Derek and puts his phone away. “Since you look hot in pretty much everything.”

“Stiles,” Derek says, flushing.

“‘S true,” Stiles shrugs, leaning over the bar and into Derek’s space. “You look hot in your scrubs and in your stupid skinny jeans and leather jacket. And also in that dumb Santa costume Erica made you wear last year, and in the bunny suit after that.”

“I thought we promised we were _never_ _going to mention that again_ ,” Derek hisses.

“But you know what look makes you even hotter?” Stiles asks, completely ignoring him. “It’s my favorite one, really. The way you look right after we wake up in the morning, when you’re all scowly and sleepy and with bed head, and you accidentally put on one of my shirts or sweatpants or boxers.”

“Stiles,” Derek says again, this time softer.

“That’s my favorite,” Stiles tells him, their faces so close their noses are almost touching. “When you look right at home, wearing my things. It’s even better when I can see my marks on you, the bruises I put on your skin. On your collarbones, your stomach, your hips and thighs. That’s when you look the best to me.”

“That’s when I feel the best,” Derek admits, bumping their noses together.

“Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it,” Stiles whispers against Derek’s lips. “It’s been almost two years since you let me take you home, and I still love it. Every minute of it.”

“Good,” Derek tells him. “Me too.”

And it’s true.

It’s been almost two years since Derek and Stiles started dating, since Derek finally let himself flirt _back_ whenever Stiles tried to flirt with him, since he and Stiles left the bar together after Stiles’s shift ended and went to Stiles’s place.

Derek still gets shivers whenever he remembers that night: Stiles’s hot mouth against his, their bodies pressed together and moving in tandem, the taste of Stiles’s skin as Derek traced the ink on his chest and stomach and hips with his tongue.

He didn’t manage to get to the tattoos on Stiles’s legs and arms and back until the next morning, though.

Stiles didn’t mind.

He still doesn’t, whenever Derek gets this wild look in his eyes and doesn’t let Stiles leave their bed. He just goes pliant, letting Derek trace the drawings on his skin with his fingers, following the same path later with his mouth and tongue.

“Don’t know why you like them so much,” Stiles murmurs every time, even though he doesn’t push Derek away, just curls his fingers through Derek’s hair and lets him do as he wishes.

And every time Derek answers, “It’s art,” and kisses the wolf howling on Stiles’s right side, kisses the Sheriff’s badge on his arm, kisses the script letter C right over his art. “You’re art.”

“You’re a sap,” Stiles says, then and now, in their bed and at the almost empty bar.

“And you love me,” Derek says, then and now, in their bed and at the almost empty bar, as he looks at Stiles.

“And you love _me_.”

Derek just smiles, closes the distance between them, and catches Stiles’s mouth in a kiss, sweet and deep and slow.

“Get me to bed,” Derek murmurs when he pulls back, nipping at Stiles’s bottom lip. “Doctor’s orders.”

“Yes, Doctor.” Stiles kisses him again, fingers finding their way through Derek’s hair. “Whatever you want.”


End file.
